Father of the Witch
by Helix Spencer
Summary: Draco Malfoy's life is perfect. Him and his wife, Hermione, are the proud parents of Annie and Scorpius, but when Annie returns from studying abroad and announces that she's engaged, their whole world turns upside down: especially for overprotective Draco. He may have met his match in Bryan MacKenzie, the "independent communications consultant" from Los Angeles... Dramione! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have absolutely _no_ business writing another multi-chapter fic when I have so many others that need finishing (literally, almost two hundred—it's insanity) but I was watching Father of the Bride the other day, when I was very suddenly (and very strongly) reminded of Draco Malfoy. I'm a sucker for a good Draco/Hermione, so thusly, this was born: my Dramione debut. To make it easier on myself, and because I couldn't bear to part with an already-cherished plot and cast, I will be borrowing a good chunk of the script word-for-word, and most of the fan-favorite cast members will be staying. I wouldn't dream of cutting out Franck, and for a while I agonized over which Next-Gen character would take the place of Bryan MacKenzie (Albus Potter was a major contender) when I realized that removing Bryan would be to remove one of the best unsuspecting villains Hollywood had ever created. It would just be a crime. Maybe Draco will even meet his match in him...?**

 **Before you ask, OF COURSE there will be a sequel! I couldn't not. In fact, I've already started writing it...Oops.**

 **For reference, I pictured Kiernan Shipka as Annie Malfoy. She's a spitting image of Hermione and Draco, I swear. You can imagine Scorpius (Mattie) however you'd like, although whenever I wrote him, I pictured younger-Draco.**

 **I have a hobby for photoshop, so I created my very own story poster. I hope you enjoy it, and hopefully soon I'll have a Father of the Witch gallery up on my profile if I can figure out how to, lol.**

 **Please, please enjoy! This is one of my all-time fave movies, but the** _ **only**_ **way I could figure out how to make it better was to throw Dramione in there...I'm hopeless. But I promise you'll love it.**

 **XOXO, Helix.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Father of the Bride, Harry Potter, or Party City.**

* * *

I used to think a wedding was a simple affair.

Wizard and witch meet, they fall in love, he buys a ring, she buys a dress, they say I do.

 _I was wrong._

That's getting _married_. A _wedding_ is an _entirely_ different proposition.

I know—I've just been through one.

Not my own. My daughter's, Annie Malfoy-MacKenzie. That's her married name. _MacKenzie_.

I'll be honest with you, I think I'd be safe in saying that when the Malfoys from times passed first purchased this land—two hundred and fifty thousand hectares of fine English soil cleverly concealed in a largescale Undetectable Extension Charm—it cost _less_ than this blessed event in which Annie Malfoy became Annie Malfoy-MacKenzie.

I'm told that one day I'll look back on all this with great affection and nostalgia.

I hope so.

You fathers will understand. You have a little girl, a beautiful little girl who looks up to you and adores you in a way that you could _never_ have imagined. I remember, how her little hand to fit _inside_ mine. How she used to love to sit on my lap and bury her head into my chest. She said I was her hero—an ex-Death Eater, a _hero_ , if you can believe it—unrivaled in her eyes by even Saint Potter himself. Then the day comes when she wants to get her ears pierced and wants you to drop her off _alone_ , in Diagon Alley Of All Places, a place, might I add, that is a few short steps away from bloody Knockturn Alley. And next thing you know, she's wearing _eyeshadow_ and high heels!

From that moment on, you're in a constant state of panic: you worry about her going out with the wrong kind of blokes, the kind of blokes who only want one thing. And you know exactly what that one thing is, because it's the _same_ thing _you_ wanted when _you_ were their age. Then she gets a little _older_ , you stop worrying about her meeting the wrong guy, and start worrying about her meeting the _right_ guy. And that's the biggest fear of all, because then you _lose_ her.

And before you know it, you're sitting all alone in a big empty house wearing rice on—and _in_ —your expensive dress robes, wondering what in the bloody _hell_ happened to your life.

It was just six months ago, that it happened. Here.

Just six months ago...when the storm broke.

Annie had been studying for her Double Masters in Transfiguration and Magical Architecture for the past semester, in Rome. I remember I was at work, walking through one of my factories. I'd taken over as the head of Malfoy Enterprises in the stead of my father (lately, along with my mother, a chronic vacationer) for some time now, manufacturing brooms for distribution all over the Wizarding World.

Anyway, I remember how preoccupied I was that day…

* * *

A woman levitating a cart full of walnut-stained twigs bumped into my shoulder.

"My apologies, Mister Malfoy!" The woman gasped.

"My fault, Grace," I mumbled, simultaneously flipping through a dossier for my biggest factory—in London—and their monthly expenses, and craning my neck up (no hard feat for as tall as I was) eagerly, looking for my executive assistant. Like I'd hoped, she was gesturing exaggeratedly—like she _should_. It was an important event. Annie had never been that far from home before, and she was due back any minute. I couldn't wait to see her.

I caught her eye, and soon as she realized she had my attention, she turned and picked something up—her wand. She casted the Sonorus charm, and the sound traveled easily through the glass window of my second-level office.

"Mister Malfoy? She landed."

I deflated in sheer relief; I had been a tense bloody mess all day long, probably doing no good for my reputation. Salazar _knows_ why she had insisted on taking a damned aeroplane. I mean, yes, Floo-travel was never good for long-distance—especially to Italy, where you could just as easily end up in a wood-fired pizza oven if you weren't careful—and Apparitioners were having trouble traveling lately for some reason (something about the planets being lined up weird right now) but I absolutely did not see anything wrong with taking an International Port-Key, besides the fact she was positively panic-stricken at the mere thought. She insisted it was 'fine' and 'all about the experience.' Utter wash, if you ask me. Being stuck in a metal cylinder at speeds and heights even the nastiest of dragons wouldn't dare venture seemed rather pointless to me, either way. Who was I to deny her anything, though? I had been knowingly screwed over in _that_ department for the last two decades.

I've _always_ been the overprotective kind of parent. I'm a huge advocate for all manner of safety spells and cushioning charms, bedtimes, curfews, owling or Floo-calling when you get somewhere, if you're not around muggles, and if you are, sending a discreet patronus. Never running with a sharp object, et cetera. What can I say? I'm a _father_. It comes with the territory.

"Is Hermione picking her up at the airport?" Olivia, my assistant, asked me politely.

"Yes, I'm heading for home right now," I muttered, clasping my navy-colored pinstriped traveling cloak. Wallet, wallet...God knew they were cracking down on random Apparition license checks lately.

Olivia knew what I was searching for, and tossed it to me.

"Ah, thanks…"

Normally, I would never be so informal with her, but today was different. I was distracted, and despite knowing Annie was relatively safe, I was still nervous for some reason that I couldn't put my finger on.

"Oh! And sign this!"

"Alright…" I fisted the quill and signed without reading it. Something I'd ultimately pay for later, if my father ever found out.

"Briefcase?"

" _Yes,_ I have it." The dragon-hide handle was starting to warm under my grip. I had one foot in the Floo when she shouted after me with my wand in her hand.

"Bring her by!"

Snatching it with a nod but without thanks, I stepped into the grate and out into another.

I left work a little early because I had little something to pick up for Annie's homecoming. We live a ways outside a small coastal village on the Bristol Channel, in Devon, England. Whoever started the narrative that the Malfoys have always resided in Wiltshire are bloody idiots. I love it there. It's quiet, unbothersome, and by Merlin, _private_. Since it hasn't changed much in the past thousand or so years since the Malfoys first started living there, and especially since I'm not a guy who's too terribly big on change, it fits me like a custom-made Seeker's glove.

Anyway, I got Annie's ten-speed bicycle (an old gift of compromise when she first refused to fly but got that unbearable longing look in her eye that I just can't handle) all cleaned up and polished; new seats, new tires, everything. I could hardly wait to show it to her. Maybe it would give her happy memories of riding around on the estate grounds before she got over her flying phobia. Hopefully since I did something 'the Muggle way,' Hermione would also appreciate it, and, possibly, even reward me for it. Just as hopefully, the fact that I had magically shrunken it for carrying purposes wouldn't mess with the patina on the wooden inlay.

The Floo spun again in a shower of green sparks, and I was home.

 _Ah_.

Malfoy Manor—what a sight for my poor, anxious eyes. All it was missing right now from this utter vision was Annie, but every day, it remained to be seen that it really had benefited from Hermione's touch. While still intimidating, it was a bit brighter, smelled nicer—and not to mention a _lot_ less dusty now that the house elves were treated a little better than they had been. Annie has lived here as long as she's been alive. When Annie was a Second Year in Hogwarts, our son, Scorpius, was born.

Nobody had been more pleased than my father. He was so relieved that we were having a son to carry on the Malfoy name that he purchased him a bloody house in Germany that would be legally his on his seventeenth birthday. Hermione had been disgusted at such a display of patriarchy, whereas I had been irritated that he had beaten me to the punch. At nine years old, though, he isn't aware of it, and for good reason. At his age, I knew how to ride a hippogriff, a broom, and I probably could have managed the floo alright by myself if only I could have reached the powder-pot on the mantel. And Scorpius is already ten times sharper than I was at _his_ age, cleverness-wise. A scary concept, Hermione and I could both reassure you. God knows what would happen if he found out he owned a house and the stipulations of such an ownership—or, basically, what that would equate to in his eyes: at _least_ one house-elf to order around (not that he'd ever, as Hermione had gotten a hold of him young), sweets whenever he wanted, and no other rules, besides.

All I really had to worry about was him finagling it out of his grandfather somehow, who had a terrible weakness for either of them. Like I could talk, though.

Either way, this house—this brilliant house—will go to them one day, anyway. I wouldn't move if someone paid me the world to—a concept that made me laugh, because I already _had_ the world, practically. And whether _she_ admitted to it or not, I knew Hermione loved it here. In fact, the thing I know liked best about it was hearing _her_ voice as soon as I stepped through the Floo.

"Ah, you're home early!" Right on cue, Hermione swept in through the doorway from the room in which I had just Floo'd, carrying a large vase of fluffy purple and white flowers instead of levitating them into the Entrance Hall. She stretched on her toes to kiss me on the lips as she passed.

"Hi," I murmured. "Where is she?"

"Oh, she's unpacking!" She moved to set the flowers on a willow side table next to the big double doors. "She looks... _oh_ , Draco, she looks _fabulous_ , really. Different," she mused. "Anyway. She can't wait to see _you."_

"Different?" I frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

"Ciao, Papa!" Scorpius cheered from behind me. I turned.

"Hey..." I greeted him, trailing off when I noticed all the chocolate around his mouth.

"Annie brought me this chocolate bar all the way from _Rome!"_ He grinned delightedly, and the evidence showed on his teeth, too. Hermione's face twisted lightly, and she bent to shoo him back down the hall toward the dining room.

"And let's not get it all over our English furniture, please!"

I smothered a smile. That reminded me of one of Hermione's favorite phrases: _Just because your mess can be cleaned up magically, doesn't mean you should make one in the first place!_

"Scorp," I called, and he turned around to face me expectantly. I reached inside my cloak pocket. "New broom saddle."

I flicked the little strip of leather off my palm, and it magically enlarged midair. He caught it easily, and I beamed quietly with pride. Scorpius already had the makings of a fine seeker.

He inspected it, and smiled widely. "Hey, Grazie!"

"You're welcome," I shook my head, amused, and he disappeared back down the hall. Turning back to Hermione, the frown reappeared on my face. "What do you mean, different?" I pressed.

"Um…" She glanced away from me, her gaze focused over my left shoulder. I followed it.

Annie stood waiting at the top of the stairs. Her hair, so like her mother's but honey instead of brunette, she was a spitting image of both Hermione and my mother at the same time. She wore a plain black dress, a thin strand of pearls, silver hoops, and a matching black headband. Her hazel eyes sparkled mirthfully. She was absolutely beautiful.

My smile nearly split my face in half. "Annie."

"Hi, Dad!" She sang—and her voice echoed in the huge space. As per tradition, she immediately mounted the stone staircase and slid, side-saddle, right into my arms. Catching her by her waist, I twirled her in a full circle and a half before setting her down and then hugging her tightly.

" _Merlin_ , I missed you!" Annie crowed.

"You look all lit up inside," I observed. Indeed, she was glowing like a candle.

"I feel all lit up inside," Annie agreed laughingly.

Hermione looked up at me thoughtfully. "Maybe we should go to Rome for a couple of months, Draco."

I wrapped an arm around her, not entirely averse to the thought, but I stayed quiet. _Certainly not in a bloody plane, will I go to Rome. It's a Portkey or nothing._

" _Oh,_ you guys would _love_ it," she guaranteed, clasping her hands over her chest and closing her eyes briefly. "It's the most romantic place on _Earth."_

Hermione hummed into my shoulder, and I reminded myself to look at Portkey prices after she'd gone to sleep. I caught a whiff of perfume, then—it wasn't Hermione's vanilla.

"You smell good, too," I told Annie, hoping I was right and that I hadn't been slighting _Hermione_ all day by not complimenting her. But Annie brightened even more.

"Ooh, you like it?" Sniffing her own wrist, she shot me a serene smile. "It was a present."

"Doesn't she just look incredible?" Hermione gushed. "I almost didn't recognize her!" She began to usher Annie toward the dining room. "Come on, then, dinner's on the table under a stasis charm."

I frowned thoughtfully, and followed after them.

* * *

"Alright—now that we are all back under one roof, we have something very important that we have to discuss." I paused, put on my wireframe glasses, and looked down a copy of the Daily Prophet at my left. Unsurprisingly, Hermione sometimes encouraged reading at the table. "First order of business, who wants to go the Falmouth Falcons match on Thursday?"

"Me!" Scorpius accepted instantly. "Definitely, yes!"

Hermione laughed, but grimaced. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I can't. I have to do inventory at the shop that night."

"Hm," I grumbled. Hermione wasn't exactly what I'd call a diehard fan, but I had still looked forward to her being there.

"Thursday, sure, absolutely…" Annie muttered.

"Scorpy, please use your fork," Hermione coaxed.

I moved on, pleased that at least both of my children were interested in attending. "Number Two, Gwenog Jones is coming to the forum, and I can get us great seats. Sound alright?"

"Um, _yeah_ , sure!" Annie nodded enthusiastically—suspiciously so. I peered at her skeptically over the rims of my glasses.

"'Um, yeah, sure?'" I parroted, looking between Hermione, who simply cocked her head at her interestedly, and back to Annie. "Is that a 'yes?'"

Annie smiled sheepishly, and nodded.

"Erm, darling…" Hermione tapped me lightly. "Could you call for that bottle of wine in the fridge, for me?"

"Sure, 'Mione." I made to snap my fingers.

"Dad, wait, um…" Annie interrupted. "I don't know."

"You _don't_ want to see Gwenog Jones?" I asked her incredulously, swiping my glasses off the bridge of my nose.

"No, no, I _do,_ it's just...um…" She trailed off uncertainly.

In the meantime, I summoned our head house-elf, Perdita. She cracked into being, and bowed.

"Bring us the bottle of Chateau La Tour-Martillac, from the downstairs refrigerator, please."

"Of course, Master."

"What is it?" Hermione cajoled gently. "Annie, is something going on?"

" _Yes,"_ she breathed, almost like she was relieved to have been found out. "Yes, it is, Mum. Oh, Merlin, this is a hard thing to tell parents…especially when they're _my_ parents…Oh, Merlin…"

Perdita re-appeared with the wine. I accepted it and conjured three wine glasses, and started to pour.

"Poppet, just say it—what's the big deal?" I was starting to get worried, and Hermione's expression read the same as I passed her her glass.

"Yeah," Scorpius agreed, probably just to say something.

"Okay," she relented, and took a rather large breath in preparation for her announcement. "I _met_ somebody, in Rome. He's an American. He's from Los Angeles, actually, but he lives in Exeter right now, I was so surprised! And, um, his name is Bryan MacKenzie, and…" Annie fisted her hands, and I was surprised at her show of ferocity. Did she think I wouldn't approve? I didn't, but some faith from my only daughter would have been nice. She continued. "He's this… _completely_ wonderful—wonderful—amazing man, and well, we started seeing each other...A lot."

Hermione was smiling amazedly, but I could feel myself becoming tense again. I was no diviner, but already, I could see where this was headed.

"And, um…" She shrugged, and laughed gently. "We fell in love!"

Hermione's mouth dropped open now.

"It actually happened! And, erm, we've decided to get married." She paused, as if to let it actually sink in. Like it hadn't already, with claws like that of Crookshanks. Hermione gaped, and I leaned back in my chair slowly.

"Which _means_ , I'm engaged..." Annie slapped her hands softly down on the table, and the movement made her hair bounce. "I'm engaged, I'm getting married!"

My fear was confirmed. _Engaged._ Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

"Congratulations," Scorpius offered pleasantly.

"Thank you!"

"Oh, my!" Hermione could hardly contain her dazzling grin. "Oh, so... _oh_ , goodness. And that's your engagement ring, is it?"

"Yes, yes!" She twisted it excitedly on her finger. I eyed it with no lack of antipathy. It looked like it was made out of hardly any precious metal at all. Did he have any taste? "We found it at a flea market outside of Rome! The man we bought it from said it was at _least_ a hundred years old."

"Wow," Scorpius said.

"So, Dad…Stop it, say something…" She turned to me again, entreating me.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The little girl on my right could hardly see over the dining table. Her blonde pigtails bounced over her play-robes.

" _Daaaad,"_ she repeated, and her tiny voice belied her frustration at having to repeat herself. "I met a man in Rome, and he's wonderful, and brilliant, and we're getting _married."_

I blinked hard, several times. I couldn't unsee it or unhear it. What in the bloody _hell_.

"Mum, what's he doing?" Annie whispered.

"Draco," Hermione murmured. Her voice sounded about a million miles away. " _Draco,_ what is it?"

"Well!" I finally laughed. Annie smiled hesitantly, and so did Scorpius. My own manic smile turned into a sharp frown. "This is _ridiculous!"_

Annie's smile fell. "What?"

"You're—you're too young to get married!"

"Too young!" Annie exclaimed. "Dad, I'm twenty-two. If I'm not mistaken, that's a year older than Mum was when you two got married."

"That is _absolutely_ not true!" I denied.

"Oh, no," Hermione tutted. "You're absolutely _wrong_."

My face contorted disbelievingly, and I swiveled to face her. "You were this age when I married you?"

Annie's hand slid up to rest beneath her chin, and she smiled smugly.

"No!" Hermione cried softly. "Ugh, I was _younger_. I was _this_ age when she was _born_."

I stuttered for the first time in decades. "That—that doesn't matter! Times have changed! Your mother was mature—"

"Pfft!" Annie snorted.

"And—" And I found myself gasping for air. I pulled at the collar of my cloak. "Can someone cast a cooling charm? It's hot in here—"

Hermione rolled her eyes and flicked her wand.

Suddenly, I grasped at a new idea, my brain flashing with an old reminder of something a younger Annie had once written us after she had been stood up on a Hogsmeade date.

"I thought...I thought you didn't _believe_ in marriage! I thought that it meant a woman lost her identity. I thought you wanted to get a job before you settled down, so you could earn money—not that you need it, like I keep _telling_ you. So you could be your own person…?"

"Alright, hold on," Annie started to placate. "I _didn't_ think I believed in marriage, until I met Bryan."

To my horror, Hermione was actually _nodding along_ with this tripe, with clasped hands to boot. Why was I the only one that saw that it made no sense? Had she been Imperioused? The mere thought made my blood boil, and I demanded as much.

"No, I'm not under the Imperio! Really! Bryan's not like any other guy I've ever known," she pleaded.

If Hermione used Legilimency on me _right now_ , she would have doubtlessly smelled ash. Maybe the reason it was hot in here was because my world was going up in flames around me, and whoever this Bryan MacKenzie _creep_ was, he was holding the match.

"I _want_ to be married to him."

There. Right there, right then, I was done for. I'd fight it, but to deny Annie would be to die.

By Salazar, though, I would fight it.

"And, I'm not going to lose my identity with him," she promised. "Because he's not some over-powering, macho _guy_. He's like _you_ , Dad!" She gestured at me, then tapped small fist on the table again. "Except he's brilliant."

I leveled a look at Hermione, but she avoided my eyes, biting her lip instead.

"He happens to _love_ the fact that I want to be an architect, and he wants me to design a house for us to _live_ in. He said he'd move anywhere I got a job. Give me a _little_ credit, Draco."

My eyes blew wide, and I straightened out of surprise alone. ' _Draco?!'_

"I'm not going to marry some _ape_ who wants me to wear Go-Go Boots and an apron. I'm _telling_ you, you'll love him," she insisted again. "He's a _genius. And_ sweet. And I love him more than anything in the world."

 _And I love him more than anything in the world._

Covertly, I took a moment to check if there were any stray cinders blowing across my ivory dinner plate. I was even more surprised when they weren't there.

"What does Bryan do?" Hermione inquired mildly.

"Who's Bryan?" I asked, just to be deliberately dense.

Annie cried out in frustration, and Hermione scoffed.

I threw up my hands, and the lie came to my tongue effortlessly. "I forgot his name!"

As if she hadn't said it ten thousand times _already_.

"He's an independent communications consultant," Annie rattled off proudly, like she had been practicing. And sounding so much like her mother that it nearly killed me right there.

"An independent communications consultant." I tested the words in my mouth scathingly. "So he's a Muggle."

"Yes, he is," Annie answered.

"What's wrong with that?" Hermione asked pointedly.

I bristled. "Nothing. Have you told him that you're a _magical_ architect, yet?"

"No," she muttered—then visibly steeled herself. "But I will!"

"So he doesn't even know that you're a witch. Were you waiting until you got engaged to break the news?"

"Draco," Hermione hissed warningly.

"Doesn't matter now, since you've already accepted. Never mind the fact that he _never_ _once_ asked my permission." I then schooled my face again. "Independent, you said?"

"Yes," she said.

I turned to Hermione. "That's code for _unemployed._ "

Annie pulled in a breath through her teeth, and Hermione sent another glare my way. I ignored them both.

"This is _perfect_. You meet an unemployed, 'amazingly brilliant' Muggle _non_ -ape, that _I'm_ going to have to support! It's not like you'll be able to live with the quality of life you were raised with, not on a Muggle salary, and certainly not in the state the Muggle Economy is in now. No _wonder_ he'll move anywhere you get a job!"

Hermione's hand thumped down sharply on the table this time, but I wasn't done. "You're _not_ getting married, and that's it. That's final, Annie Malfoy."

Then I remembered something _else_.

"And I _don't_ like you calling me 'Draco'! When did _that_ start?"

Annie threw her cloth napkin down on the table. "Daddy, what's _wrong_ with you?"

She stormed away, and the cavernous dining room went silent. I turned to see Hermione gaping at me.

"What?" I looked at her, askance. "You're telling me you're _happy_ about this?"

"Draco, will you _please_ stop acting like an utter lunatic and go out and talk to her, before she runs out that door, marries that boy, and we never see her again?" Hermione implored desperately.

"Fine!" I tossed down my own napkin and stood up from my spot at the head of the table. "Boy...How do you know he's a boy? He could be forty-five years old!"

Hermione only glared harder. I still could still feel it when I exited the room, and not for the first time in our suddenly-explosive evening, my chest panged.

In warning, I'm sure now, of all that was to come.

* * *

I found her slumped on the long terrace by the ballroom, but she rocketed to her feet when she saw me.

"Just because he's an independent communications consultant doesn't mean he's an 'unemployable non-ape!'" She paused to take a breath. "Bryan _happens_ to be a computer genius. Companies send him all over the world, hooking up these complex systems. Major banks and corporations send him to Tokyo and Brazil and Geneva! He's—he's a genius. Like mum."

"So he's like your mother _and_ I? Why do you need him, then?" I teased flatly. Truthfully, it was a real question. Casually, I tossed her her broom. "How old is this 'genius?'"

She tossed it back roughly, utterly uninterested. "Twenty-six. _Not_ forty-five. You guys still think I can't hear you when I'm one room away…"

And that's when I cracked. It was just wide enough for Annie to wedge her grand new idea inside the gap, eased along with the help of _that bloody look_.

"If you love him so much, I know I'll love him too." The lie was like eating nails, but I knew it was necessary. For right now, at least.

Annie looked dubious—then, she smiled, wrapped her arms around my waist, and pressed her forehead into the cloak-clasp resting on my sternum. She'd stopped growing when she was fifteen, like Hermione had. I sighed through my nose.

"Bryan…?" I prompted.

"MacKenzie," she finished. Her voice was muffled, but the adoration was clear.

"Bryan MacKenzie," I repeated. _Snob_.

"Yeah," she confirmed. She stepped back.

"I can't wait to meet him." I nearly bit my tongue in half saying so—it was like trying to avoid the after-effects of Veritaserum.

"Good, because he'll be here in an hour to meet you," she chirped.

 _That's just bloody great. I can't believe she told him where we were located!_

But I forced a smirk. "I suppose, then, you're not in the mood for a little one-on-one?"

I let go of my own jet-black broom, and it hovered over my palm. Her own broom—cherry and gold—waited tantalizingly beside it.

She eyed it, and then the glowing 'runway' strips Hermione had drawn on the terrace one day with her wand, and smirked back.

* * *

We flew until we couldn't see the Manor lights anymore, and the land leached into the sea. There was a terribly fantastic full moon tonight, so we didn't even have to use the built-in Lumos charms I'd installed in our broom handles.

Every time I thought I was ahead, she peeled ahead of me, pouring on speed like a dragon was chasing her, the entire time, until we had to loop back.

We landed without noise—she always touched down first—and I propped my broom over my shoulder. My other arm found her shoulders.

"You're not really getting married, are you?" It wasn't a joke, and I think she knew it, but she laughed anyway. Her good humor had always been Hermione's trait.

"Dad! Stop!"

* * *

 **A/N: I hope everybody liked the first chapter! If you feel like I've inspired you to do so, please review! I'd love to hear what everyone thinks. If you've never read any of my stories before, know that I will never, ever haggle you for reviews. (:**

 **-HS**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter 2! How exciting! A massive thank you to those who followed, it was very encouraging! Sorry it's so long in coming, I had intended on getting this posted a lot faster than I did...Most of this is the verbatim script in Draco's perspective, just like it was in the movie with George Banks. I'm finding that Draco is ridiculously fun to write, which I think makes the writing go faster. Hopefully the same is true for the rest of the chapters as well as the sequel! (;**

 **Please enjoy Draco and Bryan's confrontation!**

 **XOXO, HS**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Father of the Bride, Harry Potter, America's Most Wanted, or Party City.**

* * *

"So? Can you see him? What does he look like?" Hermione materialized behind me, nursing a cup of tea.

To be honest, I couldn't see him yet. He hadn't even gotten out of his car. But I had a sudden vision of a Knockturn Alley pimp, and prayed—hard—that it wasn't a late-blooming gift of Divination suddenly acting up.

"He just drove up," I muttered, holding the heavy burgundy velvet curtain aside with my hand.

"And…?" She prompted.

I straightened and turned to face her. "He drove too fast."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes, so I kept at my vigil by the window. I couldn't quite see his face, since he was obscured by shadow.

 _Probably should have left more lights on._

Then I caught myself. What was I thinking? Better that he trip in the dark and injure himself than getting my own hands dirty by doing the deed myself.

I squinted. He looked about as tall as I was, possibly shorter, but it was still hard to tell. He was slightly twitchy, straightening his tie or jacket or running his hands through his hair—which was far too long. Bloody Americans and their thrice-damned floppy hair.

The fancy brass knocker cracked loudly against the door just then—it was the first time I had actually heard it used in probably close to thirty years. Anybody who regularly visited Malfoy Manor used the Floo. Then, he knocked _a second time_.

My blood pressure spiked again. Impatient flea! Did he think Annie would make him _drive_ all the way from bloody Exeter just to not be answered at the door? She claimed he was a genius, but I was starting to suspect her eyes were rather clouded in that regard.

Maybe if we didn't answer him he would go away…?

Conceptually, it had merit—however, Hermione seemed to sense my thought process, and she made to answer before turning to face me again.

"Oh, wait—Draco, don't you want to meet him?"

Was she serious?

"Do I _want_ to meet him?" I repeated with a sneer.

She flashed me an exasperated grin before disappearing to open the door. I followed her at slow, precise swagger into the doorway between the Sitting Room and the Entrance Hall.

"Oh, hello!" Hermione simpered musically. I watched her stash her wand—the only way she could have gotten the heavy front door open so fast, and therefore ruining my plan with deadly efficiency—in the back pocket of her skirt, well out of Bryan's view.

"Hi, I'm Bryan MacKenzie…"

Hi? _Hi?_ Who on Earth did he think he was? Not a Malfoy, that was for bloody sure. If I had _ever_ been so informal with any prospective future in-laws of mine, my mother would have fed me to a pod of mermaids without mercy.

Hermione seemed to have no such qualms over his faux pas. "Oh, good! I'm Hermione Malfoy…"

She beckoned from behind the door, waving and pointing her finger down as if to say, _now_.

I edged only fractionally closer.

"Yes, I recognize you from your picture."

Merlin, but he was a twit. Not to mention a right suck-up. As if it wasn't enough to have to despise him in theory, I already couldn't stand him in person, and I hadn't even looked him in the eyes yet.

"Right! Please, do come in!" Hermione stepped aside and I rolled my own eyes before murmuring a featherlight charm on the door under my breath. Upon realizing what I had done, she winked gratefully at me, and it briefly eased the thorny weight in my chest.

The door closed with a resounding thud.

The weight returned tenfold.

Hermione ushered him in—and he faced me.

"Hello, Mister Malfoy," Bryan said bravely.

It was the first time I had ever hated the sound of my own name.

Bryan MacKenzie. Brown hair, green eyes, relatively straight smile—which, to my chagrin, was probably enough to win over Hermione right then and there if his half-arsed manners hadn't already done the bloody trick. To my immense relief, though, he looked to be about five inches shorter than my own six-foot-six, thank God. Unfortunately, his shoulders were just as broad. His clothes were very obviously Muggle—they seemed expensive enough. He looked insufficiently nervous.

Against my better judgement, I stepped forward to shake his hand—and lied straight to his face.

"Pleasure."

His grip was firm, but the most intriguing part of our exchange was that when we locked eyes, he seemed to acknowledge my lie, and allowed it to rest between us.

 _Allowed_ it. What was he playing at?

Perhaps he wasn't as idiotic as I had first thought—no good thing, that was for sure. It only made scaring him off all the more difficult.

"I've heard so much about you. It's great to finally meet you, Sir," he smiled.

Why was he smiling? I hadn't smiled in front of Hermione's parents for many months after we started dating. Eugh—he was messing with my head. I only nodded back.

"Annie talks about you two so much I feel like I already know you…"

I almost couldn't choke back a scoff. Presumptuous brat. My fist clenched where it had been previously splayed at the small of Hermione's back—and that was when I felt my fingertips skim the handle of her vinewood wand.

It was too tempting. One quick flick of my wrist and I could have it, an even quicker _Obliviate_ and he could be gone _for good._ I'd tritely inform Annie that he never showed up after all, and then everything would blessedly go back to normal…

"Bryan!"

It was Annie.

 _Damn!_

"Oh, Annie," he gasped. He sidestepped the both of us immediately and embraced her at the foot of the stairs.

Then she kissed him.

I grunted. Hermione cooed wistfully at the romantic scene like I hadn't kissed _her_ in a year. It only served to blacken my mood even more.

"So, this is him!" Annie announced softly.

Hermione was practically wilted against me. "Oh, darling—he's just...he's just…"

"A little nervous," Bryan finished for Hermione.

Salazar's _ghost_ , could he let the woman finish a bloody sentence?

But Hermione just _nodded_ , and laughed understandingly.

"It's like one of those situations you read about, you know? Meeting the in-laws…"

It was like he expected us to be soft, or something, and immediately accept him. If I wasn't positive that he had been an over-confident rich kid before, I was now. And we weren't even his in-laws yet.

And he _continued_. "You two seem _great_. I'm sure I have nothing to be nervous about. But, still…"

Annie shook her head affectionately and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Suddenly, I couldn't stand it any longer. I needed to get back some control.

I gestured toward the Sitting Room. "Shall we?"

* * *

It was like he was ignoring me completely. He met my eyes, of course—too often, given he could probably sense that I was dangerous somehow, even outside the general realm of being wary of your possible future Father-in-Law. But he was speaking directly to Hermione, during his entire diatribe about how he'd never really been in love before (utter crap) or how _gifted_ Annie was in between _rubbing_ _her thigh_ and commenting on how _incredible_ our home was (as if we weren't already aware of both of these things) or that he was looking forward to helping present Hermione and I with grandchildren, _plural_. I'm sure he was, too—little cretin. It was like he knew Hermione was the easy target, and that, if and _when_ worse came to worse and he needed an ally in a pinch, she would have my ear whether I liked it or not.

Before I knew it, he had had my poor Hermione in _tears_. Happy ones, yes, but I still didn't appreciate it.

Hermione and Annie were huddled together not too far away, now, laughing and crying and giggling, while I was left with Bryan—who was trying to reassure _me_ that he meant no harm.

 _I'm here to stay._ It seethed through my mind like the most acrid of Snape's poisons. _I'm here to stay._

Bryan shuffled some. "We don't have to hug, Mister Malfoy…"

"Later, perhaps," I clipped, having no intention of seeing it through. I got the feeling that he wouldn't mind if I didn't—ever.

Hermione broke away from Annie, and turned to Bryan.

"Well," she sniffled, before teaching up and kissing both of his cheeks. "That was just about the best thing I've ever heard anybody say!"

As if it wasn't bad enough that he had ensnared Annie, he had to go and lure Hermione in his parasitic trap with his sickly candy-coated words! Did actions mean nothing to anyone anymore?

"Well, I meant it…" Bryan smiled crookedly.

"Good!" Hermione smiled wetly. It was clear—she already loved him.

"Listen, I want to take Bryan out for a drive, show him around our corner of Devon," Annie proposed.

"Okay, darling!" Hermione agreed readily.

Annie led Bryan by the hand back into the Entrance Hall.

"Annie, it's a little chilly out—you might want to put on a sweater," I suggested. I almost, _almost_ , said 'cloak,' but I also wondered why Bryan hadn't jumped to recommend it before _I_ had to.

"Oh, it's okay, Dad, I'm sort of warm," Annie reassured me.

I wasn't convinced—and I was still waiting on Bryan. "Still, you've been on a plane…"

"I'm fine!"

Then, Bryan _finally_ got a bloody clue.

"Annie, it _is_ kind of cold out."

The change in attitude was instantaneous. "It is? Alright, thanks—I'll get my jacket."

I watched Bryan follow Annie down the hall toward the cloak room, and I wondered briefly whether or not it would be such a bad thing to let him 'accidentally' see one of the semi-sentient hat-stands we kept in there. We'd technically be violating the Statute of Secrecy. But then I recalled the Incoming Muggle-detection charm Hermione had placed on them after they had nearly gave her father a heart attack during one visit, and deflated. Even the elves had made themselves scarce, now. They walked back out again, and seemed to be no worse for wear.

"Mum?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't wait up, we might stop for a coffee or something…" Annie entwined her fingers in Bryan's own, and my teeth clamped down on my tongue. It was already nine-thirty.

"Okay!" Hermione—of course—agreed. "Well, goodnight, Bryan!"

"Goodnight!" He wished her, then stuck out his hand toward me. "Goodnight...Mister Malfoy."

"Lord," I said tightly, followed by an even tighter smile. "Lord Malfoy."

"That's not necessary," Annie interjected quickly. "You can call him Draco. Or Dad!"

That was clearly her idea of revenge at my title-tossing. I stifled my reluctant pride at her cleverness, and my general disgust ramped up again. Dad. Like hell.

"'Draco'...will be fine," I said thinly.

"Okay…" Bryan still looked unsure after my correction. "I, uh—I'll say it the next time I see you."

Wonderful. "Drive carefully," I instructed instead, watching as the walked toward the doors. "And don't forget to fasten your condom."

"Dad!" Annie screeched, spinning around.

Hermione pinched my shoulder, and I stifled a yell. That had hurt.

"Seatbelt," I amended gruffly.

It wasn't what I meant at all, and it wasn't like I could claim Wizarding ignorance since Annie and Hermione know that I know the damn difference. I was nearly as fond of my Jaguar as I was of my racing broom—I knew what a bloody seatbelt was. Bryan looked very faintly amused, like he didn't trust himself to laugh out loud in my presence. It was the smartest decision he'd made since he walked in and said 'hi.'

"I am putting your father to bed, Annie," Hermione declared firmly.

Annie rolled her eyes deeply, and she dragged Bryan away.

"Have fun!" Hermione called as the doors closed. I felt the in-home wards settle again—and so did a dark look on my face. I had a big feeling it wasn't going to be a temporary expression.

Hermione whirled around with a wide, bright white beam. "He was _wonderful."_

My returning sharky smile was almost nothing more than a baring of my teeth. "It'll never last."

"Wanna bet?" Hermione scoffed lightly. She threw a stray pair of Scorpius' trainers that she had been cradling, at me.

" _Hermione,"_ I implored, following her into the Sitting Room, where she began to wave her wand and dim the lamps. "She's too smart for this kid, for one. They are absolutely incompatible, can't you see it? I give it two months, at best." I paused. " _One_ month."

"No, Draco, I'm telling you, I feel it in my bones—"

I felt my face pull into a darker version of a haughty look. "You 'feel it in your bones,' do you? Don't feed me that crap, Hermione. You don't believe in Divination!"

"We're two very lucky parents—"

" _Lucky?"_ I roared. "Are you serious?"

"Yes!" She started up the stairs, untucking her shirt from her skirt as she went. I pounded up the carpeted stone stairs after her—it was getting late, but I was too keyed up to be tired.

"Did you hear his laugh? It was so phony!"

"I thought it was totally sincere." She paused, leaning a hand on the banister to remove her low heels one by one, and I moved past her.

"Oh, _please_. What about that rehearsed bloody speech he gave? It was right out of a book, _How to Grease Your Future Mother-In-Law…"_

"Like you didn't quote the very same book when you met _my_ mother!" Hermione exclaimed. "Hell, you probably co-wrote the damn thing! Plying her with her birthstones in priceless antique settings like that, Draco, honestly!"

"What did you want me to do?" I blinked back at her.

"Nothing that you weren't already raised to do," she reassured me with a fond glance, but she teased, "I'm pretty sure she still has a crush on you, you know."

Ugh, I could feel my ears reddening, now. Of course I had noticed. Not that flirting with Jean wasn't terrible fun—she certainly gave as good as she got—but I was aggravated that Hermione had picked _now_ to call me out on it.

 _Reminder to self: buy Jean a dress made entirely of pearls._

"At least I could say that I did! I didn't see him presenting _you_ with a gift as was proper," I shot back. "He probably thought he _was_ the gift to parents everywhere, no _'plying'_ necessary…"

"You hypocrite," she smirked up at me. "You complain about him laying it on thick, when you were no better. In fact, I remember you were _worse."_

 _Buy Jean two dresses._

Hermione reached up, though, and tugged me by my shirtsleeve until I was closer to her. I didn't protest—I couldn't—and I searched her face, but she was completely serious. "Come off it, Draco, really. You're getting it wrong."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you think I cried?" She asked me simply.

"Good question," I exclaimed. "I don't know why _either_ of you cried. And what about the way he kept _touching_ her?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione sighed. We both started to move back up the stairs again.

"What do you mean, ' _what do you mean?'_ He couldn't keep his hands off of her!" I growled, wordlessly levitating Scorpius' shoes to float down the hallway toward his room.

"Oh, _right,"_ Hermione agreed sarcastically, gesturing at me with her own shoe. "Sounds _just_ like when we were engaged except that wasn't all you could keep off me!"

She poked my shoulder playfully as she followed me into our room. I glowered, flicking my wand—the lights turned on.

"That was different." I undid my tie with a jerk. "And we _certainly_ never acted that way in your parents' house!"

"Ha!" Hermione laughed. She disappeared into the bathroom. "You want me to name all the rooms we did 'it' in, in my parents' house?"

"It was _different_ ," I insisted. I moved into the closet, shouting to be heard now across the expanse of the room. "We were like two imbeciles. This is our child we're talking about!"

"Oh, Draco, are you kidding? Sometimes I still think you think of Annie as a seven-year-old in pigtails!"

A bit angry, now, I swiftly exited the closet. "Well, that goes to show how much you know about me, Hermione, because that's not _at all_ how I see her. Seven-year-old in pigtails…"

I sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. I'd never admit it, but hadn't I just glimpsed that same little girl at supper? Hadn't I just heard her beg for us to let her marry one of the dining room chairs wrapped in one of my Savile Row suit jackets? In a ceremony officiated by Perdita, with the other elves tossing the mutilated remains of my mother's prized cream roses, while Hermione pretended to wail with happiness into a handkerchief?

Hermione appeared again, wrapped sumptuously in a blush-pink robe. She finished the knot—it was pulled tight. I grimaced. "Here's the thing, Hermione—we have no idea who this Bryan kid really is—"

"Oh, uh-huh…" She hummed indulgently.

"I mean, if it's his real name. Who knows?" I followed her to her side of the bed. "Maybe he already has a wife. People read about these cases everyday—men with wives and families stashed like stray Galleons all over the country. I mean, he could be a professional con-artist! Like that bloody Mundungus Fletcher."

"I would hardly call Dung 'professional', God rest his greasy soul," Hermione interjected primly.

"They meet innocents abroad and give them this song-and-dance about being an 'independent' _whatever—_ "

Hermione shushed me reassuringly, going about fluffing the pillows to her liking as if the elves hadn't already.

"All _after_ milking them for all they're worth!" I finished loudly. "What are you _doing?"_

"Getting ready for bed," she responded mildly.

"Then I suppose you're not interested that I believe I remember seeing someone who could have been Bryan's _twin_ on America's Most Wanted—"

Hermione threw up her hands, then. "First of all, I should have _never_ bought that series for you. That was my mistake. And...you're right."

I frowned.

She clarified, "I'm _not_ interested."

I turned away from her, meanwhile tossing my tie on an armchair listlessly. Why wasn't I making sense to anybody else?

"Draco."

I stopped.

" _Draco."_

Begrudgingly, I turned again. Whatever she saw there made her face soften.

"Draco, I thought he was great. I liked him a lot. And—I—Draco, will you _please_ stop making that face? I'm very happy for Annie. I'm _excited_ for her. I think this is a big deal. It's wonderful news. A wedding! Oh…"

Hermione went sort of limp in my arms, then, clearly overwhelmed with emotion. I frowned into her hair some more.

After a little while, she leaned back—and her smile was sad. "Father of the witch...Can you believe it?"

No _._

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope I find time soon to plow right through Chapter 3. It's already started and everything and I'm chomping at the bit! If you haven't, please feel free to check out the story poster I made just for this story! I'm very proud of it (: REMINDER: I will never, ever haggle you for a review!**

 **-HS**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It's been almost exactly a year since I last updated this story—there are quite a few reasons, and all good ones, but either way I haven't abandoned FOTW. In fact, I feel more inspired than ever lately, and I intend to make that feeling last as long as I can! Please enjoy Chapter 3.**

 **XOXO,**

 **HS**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Father of the Bride, or Party City.**

* * *

"Did he have to be an American?"

Forty-eight hours later, the wedding was still on, and we were on our way to meet Bryan's parents.

In Bel-Air.

In _America_.

Somehow, Annie had convinced Bryan that we already had business to take care of in Los Angeles. _I_ think that somehow being able to meet them so soon looks suspicious as hell, but I had a feeling that Annie wouldn't be explaining Portkeys to Bryan anytime soon. Besides, Hermione had agreed before I could even refuse, jumping at the chance to make a friend like the bloody _Gryffindor_ that she was.

"Oh, _please_ , Draco…" Hermione sighed, in the tone of voice she adopted when she was developing a headache.

"I mean, I don't see why we have to have brunch with total _strangers_." I lowered my voice and glared out the passenger window. Hermione was driving the Jaguar—I had shrunk it for our trip, but I hated driving on American roads.

"Because their son is marrying our daughter?" Hermione asked me rhetorically—and as if I needed to be reminded again. "It's not exactly an unusual custom, meeting the in-laws, Draco."

"And that's another thing," I growled. "I hate that expression. ' _In-laws_.' Bloody made-up Muggle concept…"

"You don't have a problem with _my_ parents," she pointed out absently, and craned her neck to casually scrutinize the Californian mansions as we drove past them.

"Don't put words in my mouth, Hermione. I don't want to be an ' _Father_ -In-Law—'"

"No?" Hermione gasped. "You _don't?"_

"No." I shot her an aggravated look behind my sunglasses. "Especially not to people who live in Bel-Air. Who lives in Bel-Air?"

"Rich people," Hermione laughed.

'Rich' people. God, but I hated New Money. They didn't have class.

"Okay...I think this is it," Hermione mused, making a smooth right into a short drive. "Yes, here we are…"

In front of us, there was a decent-sized iron gate, electronically controlled and surrounded by tall green shrubs and palm trees. Behind it, a tan-colored Spanish-style mansion covered in flowering vines—and the biggest house on the bloody street.

Great.

"Wow…"

The gate rolled aside for us. Eugh—did they open for any car that just drove up? What kind of protection from outside threats did _that_ provide?

"They were expecting us, sweetheart," Hermione reminded.

"Hmph…"

Pressing on the gas pedal gently, Hermione eased the car forward to park in a long, circular drive. I immediately got out and moved around to the other side of the car to open up the door for her.

"Thank you," she smiled softly, accepting my hand. She closed the car door and, ignoring my glower, reached up and removed my Ray-Bans. "Ah, there you are. What pretty eyes."

I grimaced. "Hermione, do we have to? Really? We could turn around right now. They won't have known we were even here…"

"Yes, Draco, we do." She raised my hand to her lips and kissed my palm. "They already saw us on the security camera."

I bit back a groan. Damn. Hermione took that opportunity to take hold of my wrist and begin to drag me toward the door.

"I think you look very handsome, Draco," she complimented.

Of course I did. In extreme contrast to her soft baby-pink dress, I had selected an unforgiving charcoal three-piece with the sole intention of intimidation. But I didn't feel like preening right now. I _didn't_. And it worried me.

"And you look beautiful, but Hermione, I'm not here to win their approval," I stated firmly.

Hermione rolled her eyes at me and while I rapped the hideous knocker, twice. Then I pounced.

"Like you didn't change your outfit five times."

"Oh, like _you_ didn't try nine different suits!" She immediately cried.

"Two," I snarled.

"Two?" She challenged imperiously.

"Two black suits, two grey suits." Still, less than five.

"I see!"

I opened my mouth to respond, and the Mackenzies opened the door.

Instantly, we were swept inside and engulfed in what seemed like never-ending _hugs._ Over their shoulders, Hermione and I exchanged a glance. I was _severely_ uncomfortable, and although I had a part to play, I made sure that my own returning embraces lasted only milliseconds.

Hermione hugged and shook hands with surprisingly reserved enthusiasm. She had slipped into her role as a Lady with inspiring alacrity and grace, but again, she was still a Gryffindor. My suspicions about her eagerness to make new friends had just been proved true.

"Hello, I'm John!" Bryan's father, a red-faced, beaming man, was thankfully not as tall as his dumb son. He was doubtlessly a snob, but he had an easy, trusting sort of handshake, which made me wonder how he had ever made all of this money with such an attitude.

"Hi, I'm Joanna…"

His wife instantly struck me as the calmer of the two. Dressed entirely in draping cream and gold, she looked like a prettier version of Mrs. Weasley—an observation I absolutely did not intend to ever share with Hermione for several reasons.

"Welcome to our house," Joanna smiled. "Please, come in!"

Furtively, I inspected it. It wasn't _as_ big in person as it seemed on the outside. The ceiling reached about ten meters at its tallest. I wouldn't have to compete with them in that arena, at least. As large as it seemed, they could have parked their whole house in our foyer.

"What a nerve-wracking thing, meeting your future In-Laws!" John declared brightly.

Nerve-wracking? Irritating, more like. All in all, he didn't seem nearly as anxious as he said. As a matter of fact, it almost seemed like he expected _us_ to be nervous. I frowned inwardly.

But he continued, "But what a relief it is that you two seem completely normal!"

"Oh!" Hermione laughed sparklingly. It only made me wonder what other kinds of parents Bryan had brought home.

"I have to tell you, we got so nervous about today, about meeting the two of you. I must have tried on three different outfits!" Joanna laughed.

"And I must have tried on four different shirts!" John added. "Can you imagine anyone being that jerky?"

Yes.

"Come on in, I thought we might have lunch in here…" Joanna segued the conversation in the direction of the meal, and we followed them into an airy room off the foyer. An American Continental-type breakfast spread, as well as empty champagne flutes, waited for us patiently on a floral coffee table. Their housekeeper fluttered around it, laying out linen napkins and bundles of extra flatware.

"Thank you, Marta," Joanna said kindly.

"Marta!" John beckoned their housekeeper forward. "Marta, esta son nuestros in-laws, Draco and Hermione Malfoy."

"Mucho gusto," she smiled at us both. Hermione smiled widely back, and I nodded.

Distant barking suddenly echoed down the hallway, and three huge dogs with identical chain-link collars bounded into the room. I shifted automatically to stand in front of Hermione.

"Here's the rest of our family!" Joanna announced.

"Don't worry—they look like killers, but they're actually quite friendly," John assured us. "As long as you're relaxed, they're relaxed."

Me, relaxed? Ever? What a joke.

"Ha," Hermione laughed weakly at John's advice, peering cautiously around my shoulder but still pressed quite firmly against my back.

I regarded them critically. Two Dobermans, one Mastiff—young, from the looks of it. Still, these dogs were much smaller than my father's Scottish Deerhounds, Odette and Maximilian. What were these, in comparison? I reached a hand down to pat the middle one's head.

"Hello…"

Almost as soon as I made the motion, it fairly launched it's flashing teeth toward my hand. I jerked it back with a disapproving sneer, and I felt myself become almost doubly more tense with irritation.

"Alright fellas, that's enough. Go on." John waved them away. "Release!"

They instantly trotted away on his single command, and John beamed. "Good boys…"

Whatever.

"Well, why don't we all sit down?" Joanna prompted.

"Please!" John agreed.

"Oh! Thank you," Hermione simpered.

We all sat—Hermione, poised, and myself, stiffly—before Joanna continued the conversation.

"I don't know if the kids told you, but we were over in Europe on business, and we stopped in Rome to see Bryan. We got to spend a few days with Annie. Oh, boy, we just fell in love with her immediately!"

I felt myself swell slightly with my pride, but I kept my face carefully neutral. "Of course."

Joanna didn't dispute me, and she laughed. "Yes, we just couldn't be happier about this."

"How did _you_ take the news, Draco?" John asked curiously, as he poured the champagne.

From the looks of it, it was moderately expensive stuff. Looking to impress, no doubt. What had Bryan told them about us? I mused over his question, wondering just how much I wanted to reveal to this ponce. A bit of camaraderie probably couldn't hurt in the long run, but like I told Hermione at the door, I wasn't looking to make friends. Not with these people. I could practically feel Hermione's amused glance in my direction after John's innocent question. I blatantly ignored her.

"Truthfully, I was a little surprised," I said, choosing the vaguest possible answer.

"I was _shocked_ ," John burst vehemently.

Deeply and unexpectedly intrigued, I pondered this. Hm. Was there a potential ally in John? At the risk of sounding redundant as hell, I agreed with him again. "So was I…"

"After all, they've only known each other for a few months," John continued in this vein.

I nodded. "Yes…"

" _Believe_ me, I tossed and turned over this one, but the bottom line is, they're in love. They're over twenty-one, and whether they're rushing into this or not is maybe…not for us to say."

My expression flattened again. Right. Not for us to say. We're only their _parents_. I was about to say these very words out loud when he hit me with:

"Yeah, sooner or later, you've gotta let your kids go and hope you brought them up right…" He grinned, before handing Hermione and I both champagne glasses.

"Draco, Hermione...Darling…"

This bloke was making a little bit too much sense for me. Not to mention I didn't like that he was calling me by my first name. My shirt collar was starting to feel like it was tightening like a hand around my neck. I rubbed it discreetly and made to take a liberal sip of champagne before I realized he intended to make a toast. I pursed my lips—I was only breathing through my nose, now.

John raised his glass.

"To Draco and Hermione, and a future of wonderful memories. First, the wedding of our children, and the happiness we'll share watching their lives. Then, sharing the joy of our grandchildren together. Birthday parties…graduation…"

John took a hasty gulp of champagne—his watery blue eyes were as red as his stupid face. I rolled my own eyes under closed lids. Now I knew where they got the expression, _like father, like son._ I also found that I needed some air.

Standing, I looked to Joanna. "Could you tell me where the restroom is?"

"Oh!" Joanna's dreamy expression cleared. "Well, our guest one is down here, but we're remodeling. Why don't you try the one at the top of the stairs? The seventh door on the left."

"Second?" I asked, having not heard her clearly.

"Seventh," Joanna repeated.

"Seventh," John chorused.

"Seventh…" I nodded mockingly—not that they would realize it—and I disappeared up the stairs to the sound of Hermione's easy chatter about the fake reason we just so happened to be in America.

* * *

The bathroom was hideous. I finished washing my hands quickly, if only to get them from under the disgustingly ugly gold tap faster. Drying them with a charm rather than the germ-ridden hanging hand towel, I glanced around and noticed that the mirror was oddly…gapped.

I prodded it. It closed. A cabinet?

Easing it back open with my fingertips, I peeked inside. Indeed, it was a cabinet—a medicine cabinet. Hermione kept a variety of Muggle medicines at home, such as anti-inflammatories and headache suppressants that we sometimes used in conjunction with potions for when they wore off or we unexpectedly ran out. A good lot of them were bitter little beans ( _not_ meant to be chewed) with the singular exception of the chalky pastel ones called Tums. Those ones were, admittedly, pretty useful—especially lately.

These particular Muggles seemed to have rather a lot of them in stock, however. Three shelves full of them, in clear orange and white phials, labeled with long, confusing print. I picked one out.

 _Vatsnik?_ I frowned, shaking the bottle and watching the round blue pills tumble around inside. I'd never seen it in our personal cabinet—idly, I wondered what the Americans' Muggle health ministry used as criteria as approval for their medicines.

I replaced it and closed the cabinet. Out of curiosity, I pulled the second cabinet—

It fell right off the wall. It _was_ no cabinet. Swearing colorfully, I briefly fumbled with it, before securing it back to the wall—somehow. I hoped that they hadn't heard it. Either way, I muttered a sticking charm. It wouldn't last but an hour or so—the half-life was pretty short for a household spell without a house-elf or myself to re-cast it—but I didn't plan on staying long enough to find out whether my manual rehanging did the trick or not.

I was just about to head back downstairs when a large archway caught my attention. I tilted my head.

 _Anything to postpone suffering through a conversation with John..._

I strode carefully through—it was an office.

Tossing a cautious look over my shoulder, I proceeded into an open-concept room and around behind the desk. My fingers skimmed the papers on top; eugh, the whole damn desk was cluttered! A bright red folding notebook embossed with gold rested on the top of the messy documents. _First Security Bank_ , it read, in all capital letters. A chequebook, then, perhaps?

I picked it up and flipped it open. It was. The figure on the line inside of it was nothing impressive…

A sudden noise off to my left alerted me to another presence in the room—

The maid. What was her name? Mandy? Marie? It certainly didn't matter right then—I dropped down behind the desk in one move.

And the MacKenzie's largest Doberman met me there.

I froze.

His lips were curled back against his sharp, white teeth in a truly hateful glare. He definitely did not look happy to see me—a throaty snarl emphasized this fact.

"I'm leaving," I promised him. "I'm relaxed, and I'm leaving."

I kept eye contact as I backed away on my hands and knees, surely undignified and definitely wary. Still on the floor, I peered around the wall. The maid was leaving with a woven basket full of dirty laundry. A moment later, the seventh door on the left clicked closed.

It was a good thing she left when she did: the dog under the desk ceased growling and started barking. A second hulking form started toward me from the direction of the bathroom—I'd been effectively cornered.

The other started to bark.

 _Freaking great!_

Slowly—very slowly—I stood and turned to look behind me in order to gauge my options. There was at least a twenty foot drop immediately outside the large windows, with a guaranteed hard landing on the brick patio. They _were_ latch-opening, though. I paid close attention to that detail specifically—I couldn't apparate.

For one, it was _way_ too loud—like a Muggle handgun going off. Experimentation in conjunction with the Auror Department even demonstrated that in high-stress situations like this one, the tell-tale cracks were always significantly louder. It's not as if I weren't skilled or anything, but I was certainly not reckless. Silencing charms and apparition tended to have an unfortunate flash-freezing effect of the immediate vicinity of the caster. I'd never be able to explain it away, not without Obliviating a Muggle, which I wasn't at all below, but was seriously illegal. At least, it was in America, where romantic films about amnesia were stupidly popular, and their Ministry expounded on the easy propaganda they created to the nth fricking degree…

The dog on my right took a step forward.

I rolled my eyes deeply. Argh! What was the word that John had used to call them off? I racked my brain—I couldn't remember.

"Relent!" I tried, but immediately grimaced—that wasn't it. "Re…coil. Reverse!"

Neither dog seemed to like that—and the one on my left jumped onto the messy desk.

* * *

"I hope Draco hasn't gotten lost up there!" John chuckled.

"Oh no, he'll be fine!" Hermione laughed—more so, really, at the thought of Draco getting lost in a house like the MacKenzie's, in comparison to a house like theirs.

"O- _kay_ …" John joked.

She grinned at him again and draped her linen napkin across her lap, idly wondering what he was getting himself into upstairs. Snooping, no doubt—

A sudden sun-burst of fuchsia petals raining down outside followed by long flailing legs nearly gave her whiplash. It was Draco.

 _Damn it…_

Thinking fast, Hermione tried her level-best to direct their attention to the other side of the room.

"What a…lovely sculpture," she complimented, choosing a piece of modern art entirely at random. It wasn't lovely in the slightest—she had more traditional tastes—but anything to distract John from her idiotic free-hanging husband.

The rest of Draco's body came into view, and Hermione tried very hard not to glance in his direction.

"Oh! Doesn't it have such a wonderful sense of motion?" John agreed.

 _Sure, whatever!_ Hermione thought desperately.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco finally drop down on the patio, red-faced.

"We bought it in Denmark. Quite a lot of my family is from Copenhagen," Joanna inserted.

"Is that right?" Hermione smiled, probably too brightly, trying not to panic. Draco was gesturing frantically at her through the large windows.

 _Don't look at him…do_ not _, Hermione._

Thankfully, John was still admiring his statue—it was an undeserved stroke of luck. "Doesn't it have such a wonderful sense of balance?"

"Oh—amazing!" Hermione demurred.

"I was going to put it in the garden—"

John turned his head just as Draco darted out of view.

Hermione huffed in brief relief under her breath—but where had he gone?

"You know, actually, Brian spent a few summers in Denmark. He now speaks better Danish than Joanna," John laughed.

Draco appeared once more, this time through the windows behind John. He waved his arms at her again—then something in his hand seemed to catch his eye, and his face slackened in shock.

Hermione's own eyes bugged—because it couldn't possibly be what she thought was in his hand, but knowing well Draco's nosy tendencies, it was probably exactly what she suspected. But she recovered. "Is that a fact?"

"Yes. In fact, we're planning a trip back there this summer."

Behind John, Draco wound his arm back and pitched the little book straight up—

Only for it to fly right back, in a perfect arc over her tall husband's head, and into the MacKenzie's swimming pool.

Hermione winced hard. She was going to _kill_ him after this…

"Um…This is a lovely spread," she said—and with that, she had officially run out of topics.

"Thank you," John said. "Well, should we wait for Draco?"

Hermione furtively glanced over his shoulder at Draco's sorry, magic-less progress at retrieving John's chequebook. Currently, he was waving a long-handled metal pool filter, with no luck.

"Perhaps I should go and check on Draco," John continued.

Hermione shook her head weakly, still watching Draco.

John made to stand—and at the same time, from opposite directions, the MacKenzie's gigantic dogs rocketed toward Draco, pinning him in between themselves on the terra-cotta pool deck.

 _Oh Merlin, they were going to attack him—!_

Hermione, her wand in the sleeve of her pink suit, prepared to stand with both a Stupefy and an Obliviate on her lips, but in a motion almost too quick to catch, Draco panicked. The filter went flying—

Draco flailed, hollering, wheeling dangerously over the pool—

Hermione closed her eyes.

And just barely audible over an almighty splash:

"Release!"

* * *

 **A/N: I hope everybody enjoyed Chapter 3!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Chapter Four! I really have to say, this one is one of my favorites to write! Please enjoy!**

 **XOXO,**

 **HS**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, The Father of the Bride, or Party City.**

* * *

"Wow, no kidding! Really? It went great?"

I bit my tongue before adopting an arrogant tone. "Better than great—it couldn't have gone better."

We were sitting outside on the stone terrace tonight for dinner, looking out on the back lawn and gardens. It would have been a decent scene if Bryan hadn't been invited. He wasn't here yet, but at this point, I didn't even care if Pothead and Weaselbee had joined, either.

"Good," Annie breathed. "I'm so relieved! You never know what could happen at those kinds of things, you know?"

"Too true, Annie," Ron agreed. "First time I met Gabrielle's parents, they probably thought I was a right idiot."

"It's because you are a right idiot," Harry said flatly.

"Who's the Quidditch star and who's the lawyer, huh?" Ron asked lazily. "Bloody jock."

I clapped my hands over Scorpius' ears, hissing, "Language."

They both paused to give me equally dubious looks.

"He...knows too much already," I admitted.

Harry cracked a rueful smile. "I still can't tell you enough how much—"

"He looks just like me when I was his age," I finished. "Spitting image, so on and what have you. I hate that vulgar Muggle phrase."

"Ironic," Ron remarked thoughtfully.

Rolling my eyes deeply, I removed my hands from my son's ears.

"Though...I have to say, I am sort of surprised everything went so well," Harry said slowly.

"Why?" I brushed off quickly. "They're rich, I'm rich."

"He's got a point, you know," Ron told Harry. "They probably get along swimmingly. Miss Annie doesn't have a thing to worry about."

Ron gave her a fond look, and she beamed. I ignored him, and his suspicious word choice, and sat down at my place at the wide round dining table.

"Now I feel like the wedding's officially on!" Annie declared happily.

"Of course it is," I scoffed affectionately.

 _Unfortunately_.

The French doors opened, then, and Hermione walked outside—followed by Perdita, who levitated juicy steaks, fat white scallops, and ripe yellow corn in front of them.

"Hi, Mum," Scorpius called. "I'm starved."

Harry and Ron grinned at each other.

"Looks brilliant, Perdita," Annie complimented.

"Yes, thank you," I murmured. Perdita bowed and popped away, clever enough to know to make herself scarce tonight.

"Bryan's mum called, with the names of her immediate family," Hermione announced, handing me a folded piece of lined yellow parchment.

I frowned, reached inside my lapel pocket, and put on my reading glasses. I unfolded the paper. And unfolded it again. I gave Hermione a flat look.

"Is this a joke?"

She made a slight face, which shared just a little bit of my own flatness. "Not only is it not a joke, but eight of them are from Copenhagen."

"Very well," I dismissed, understand what she was trying to tactfully say—the list was entirely made up of Muggles. A concerning amount of them. My worry wasn't the expense; it was security. I hadn't realistically expected not to pay for every aspect of this wedding, anyway. I wasn't going to waste my breath—and, I wasn't a cheapskate.

"Well, if there's one thing Malfoy's good at, it's signing a fat cheque, am I right?" Harry grinned at me, and not for the first time that night, I swallowed the feeling that the Wonder Twins knew about what had happened in Beverly Hills.

The terrace doors swung open. It was Bryan. "Hi everyone…Sorry, I'm late."

Everyone greeted him with varying levels of enthusiasm. Bryan jogged over to the table with a bottle of wine in his hand, kissed Annie on the lips, and presented the wine to Hermione. "Here you are…"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed softly. "Well, thank you!"

Bryan blushed. "Selv tak. It's 'you're welcome,' in Danish."

Hermione and Annie both laughed musically. Scorpius and I shared an unconvinced look.

"Please, Bryan, sit down. These are our very dear family friends, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley," Hermione introduced.

"Nice to meet you, Bryan," Harry smiled.

"Pleasure, mate," Ron nodded.

Bryan shook both of their hands before he sat. "This all looks great! I hear you're a wiz at the barbeque, Dad."

My mouth went dry with something that anybody else would have described as fury. I sensed Ron and Harry go completely still. But before I could think of anything to say, besides the fact that I had barbecued exactly _none_ of the food prepared, Hermione cleanly cut in, addressing Annie.

"Your grandparents called to give you their congratulations and that they certainly will be home before the wedding."

"Narcissa and…Lucius, right?" Bryan checked.

"Yes, dear," Hermione said to Bryan. "They're thrilled to meet you."

I shared a glance of dark amusement with Harry and Ron at the idea of anyone except my mother or Hermione calling my father by his given name so incredibly casually, let alone being thrilled to meet…well, anybody. I made a mental note for the future to tell Bryan that my father liked to be called by his first name only.

"What _is_ old Lucy up to these days, huh?" Ron asked.

 _I_ personally prayed he wasn't anywhere _near_ here. Last I had heard from him, he was in Vail, Colorado, and I desperately hoped he was still enjoying it within an inch of his rich bloody life. Not that I cared, particularly, with what or how my father chose to entertain himself and Mother, just as long as Hermione hadn't had his ear any time recently. The second we got back in the car after what happened at the MacKenzie's, she had threatened to call him and tell him what an 'utter jerk' I was being about this wedding business. The official story was that I had gotten lost and fallen into the pool after the dogs cornered me, leaving the MacKenzies to find the soggy chequebook themselves and wonder how it had grown legs and decided to go for a dip. I'd conceded though—Hermione had hit her target. The very last person I wanted finding out about my slight embarrassment was Lucius Malfoy. For now, I'd bide my time. But Ron's seemingly innocuous question sounded too much like a taunt…because it was.

Ron's face—stuffed with steak and scallops simultaneously—was wide with a close-lipped, knowing smirk.

She _had_ told them. Of course. Ugh.

Under the table, I jerked my wrist and my wand slid out from inside my jacket sleeve. I mentally aimed while still looking down and continuing to navigate my fork around my plate with my left hand. Being ambidextrous, this would luckily not alarm anyone. The stinging hex connected with Ron's solar plexus and he choked.

The whole table jumped as his palm slapped down onto the wooden table as he sputtered and wheezed.

"Easy, Ron!" Harry patted his friend's back helpfully, as bloody awkward as the day I met him. Annie left to fetch some more ice water—it wasn't like we could summon Perdita for some with Bryan sitting right there, and I still hadn't been able to come up with an explanation for the lack of staff. Bryan was grimacing, as if he wasn't sure what to do. Scorpius ignored the scene entirely, helping himself to what looked to be his seventh scallop.

I also continued to eat, unbothered—as long as he was coughing, I knew he could breathe—and eventually, he was able to force enough air into his lungs to power a breathy 'screw you' in my direction that nobody else, luckily, seemed to catch. Annie returned with the water.

"Drink some water, Ron," Hermione encouraged, somewhat suspiciously. Ron's voracious appetite hadn't lessened over the years, so this event wasn't exactly shocking.

I swallowed my bite—successfully—and turned my gaze to Bryan.

"Have you two given any thought as to what kind of wedding you want?"

Bryan looked to Annie, clearly taken off guard by my plain address of him, having not talked to him without absolutely having to before.

"Well, we've talked about it…" Annie started.

"Yes?" Hermione hummed, sounding pleased that I had willingly carried the conversation in this particular direction. "And what do you think? Big, small?"

"Well, I'm not sure how big I want it to be yet," Annie said, talking mostly to Bryan.

"So we're talking in the 'small' vicinity?" I frowned, wondering if I was interpreting correctly that she didn't want to ask for a big wedding from me.

"Well, no, she didn't say small," Hermione shook her head. "She just said 'not too big.'"

"Right," Annie smiled and continued, "I was thinking I might like to have my wedding…well, here."

"Oh," Hermione gasped softly—the kind of gasp that threatened happy tears.

"Here?" I asked quietly.

"Yeah," Annie agreed. She smiled cautiously at me.

I allowed myself to consider it—a private affair with mostly limited press, myself and Hermione at the helm of a tastefully large (but not too large) affair for our only daughter. Realistically, I knew it would metamorphosize into the Wizarding World's wedding of the century, us being who we were, but for the first time since I found out about their relationship, I almost liked the idea.

* * *

Not long after dinner, Ron and Harry found themselves in the shadows of the doorway to the Sitting Room—watching Bryan.

He was alone, hands in his pockets, closely examining the artwork on the walls. Every now and then, he would take a hand out of a pocket and swipe a hand through his hair.

' _Jumpy much?'_ Ron mouthed to Harry. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Wow," Bryan muttered, to an oil painting adjacent to the roaring fireplace. He reached up to touch the gilded gold frame, then seemed to think the better of it. Harry privately thought that that was probably smart, given this _was_ Malfoy Manor and it was best to just keep your hands to yourself unless you _were_ a Malfoy.

They had both come to agree with Draco's assessment of Bryan. He acted confident enough, and he seemed to make Annie happy, but like Draco, they weren't sure how much they liked him, either.

Ron and Harry glanced at each other and stepped forward.

"Hell of place, isn't it?"

Bryan snapped around—then laughed shortly. "Ha, yeah. Yeah, it's a nice place…They've got a hell of a lot of incredible artwork. I minored in Art History, and they've got a lot of really great pieces."

"That they do," Ron agreed, and for once he wasn't being facetious. "I'm an estate attorney, and I know a lot of people who would kill for this house and everything in it, as is. Not really to my taste…but to teach his own, right?"

"Oh, I don't think Annie's family is going to give it up anytime soon. They seem…very attached," Bryan mused—then backtracked. "No offense, of course!"

"None taken," Harry assured. "Yes, I agree, you would have pry this place out of Malfoy's cold, slimy, dead fingers long before they ever sold it."

Bryan grinned. "Don't get me wrong, Mr. Malfoy can be a little scary…But, I, uh, I like him. He's hardworking. I respect him."

Intrigued by this information, Harry and Ron shared a look over their respective glasses of Fire Whiskey.

Bryan had turned to face the fireplace. His neck was craned back in order to appreciate the nearly life-size family portrait hanging above the wide stone mantel.

The backdrop was a muted forest green; Draco stood in the center, tall and sharp-looking in his customary navy-pinstriped suit. Hermione, as elegant as ever and wearing a purple-grey sheath dress, sat in a carved wooden chair in front of Draco. Scorpius, probably no older than four, stood to her right, his little hand resting on her knee. Annie stood behind Scorpius with her hands on his shoulders, and arguably the most colorful part of the entire painting, in pale sea-foam green with a matching headband. To Draco's left, Lucius, in an equally forbidding black suit and his silver hair loose on his shoulders, rested one hand on his snakehead cane and the other on Hermione's shoulder. Narcissa, in a pretty shade of mauve, had linked her arm through Lucius' left, her manicured free hand atop his own on his cane. All in all, it was a stunning painting—Harry had been forced to admit long ago that they made a beautiful family.

"The guy in black, that's Annie's grandfather, right? He's kind of…spooky," Bryan commented with a small smile.

Ron coughed, purpling slightly at Bryan's description of Lucius.

"Mean as a snake," Harry joked cheerfully, mostly to Ron. "Really only likes his family."

"I—uh—I suppose they're going to have to redo the portrait once I marry Annie, huh?"

Ron suddenly understood why Malfoy didn't like him—that statement could easily be mistranslated into cockiness. But he decided the confidence was ultimately a good thing. Bryan was going to need it, as much as he could get of it, to survive being a part of the Malfoy family.

"Probably," Harry said, and Ron silently agreed this was the ideal segue into the conversation they had intended to have with Bryan the entire time. Ron shifted to Bryan's other side. Harry continued to speak while still gazing up at the portrait. Lucius sneered classily down at him.

"Bryan…" Harry opened his mouth to begin his speech.

But to Ron and Harry's mutual shock, Bryan stopped Harry in his tracks.

"Look, I know what this about."

"Oh?" Ron asked. "What is this about?"

"Mr. Malfoy already pretty much gave me the speech," Bryan said. "He made himself very clear that if I were to ever hurt Annie, that the proper authorities would never find my remains."

Harry was very surprised. According to the expression on Ron's face, so was he. They had both discussed at length whether or not Draco had threatened Bryan already—but an upfront affray simply wasn't Draco's style. Even more surprising, was the tone in which Bryan now spoke: the nerves were gone, and he was very calm—deliberate. Harry absently wondered if Bryan's previously halting way of speaking had in fact been for show, or that was just Draco's effect on him when he was around him.

"He didn't _say_ it. More like he's been saying it with his eyes ever since I met him," Bryan clarified. This was, indeed, far more believable. He continued. "The concept of that man needing a vanguard seems a bit ridiculous, though, doesn't it?"

And now _Harry_ understood why Draco was wary of this boy. At first, he thought he wasn't giving Bryan enough credit, but now he realized that Draco was most certainly giving him just the amount of credit he deserved—Bryan was nice as pie, but he was straightforward, and _smart_. Dangerously smart.

Almost…well, Slytherin. And it seemed like Bryan had decided to cut the crap, so to speak. At least, with Harry and Ron, that was.

"Perhaps that wasn't what our speech was even about," Harry said casually.

"Wasn't it?" Bryan asked plainly.

"No, it was," Harry disagreed. "It certainly saves us some effort."

"It does," Ron nodded. He sipped at his whiskey. "And you're right, Bryan, the last man on the planet that needs a vanguard to do his dirty work is Draco Malfoy. He used to, but not now. He… grew out of that. We just wanted to prepare you, mate, is all."

"For what, exactly? I don't know about you, but it's a little late to have thoughts of backing out," Bryan said, clearly a little more than unimpressed.

"And that's what we like to hear," Harry reassured Bryan sincerely. "But this family, well, they're very old and very serious, and to the circles they run in, they're like the British Monarchy. It wouldn't be fair of us if we _didn't_ warn you, you see?"

"Yes, Annie's talked to me about it," Bryan said succinctly.

"Alright, then," Ron said, not unpleasantly.

And though they hadn't needed to rehearse it, Harry took over. "If you marry Annie, she may take your name, but she's not becoming a MacKenzie, you're becoming a Malfoy. Make sure you act like it. Or I guarantee you that you'll never be up on that wall with the rest of those snobs that you'll call kin."

Without skipping a beat, Bryan looked him in the eye and nodded. "I understand. Thank you, both of you, for the warning."

Ron nodded back. Harry, in turn, dropped his antipathy.

" _I_ think you're a shoo-in for making it up there," Harry jerked a thumb in the direction of the big portrait. "If you ask me, they need some more brunettes in that painting. You know, for contrast."

Brian smirked carefully. "Thanks. Now, how did you meet Mr. Malfoy? Mrs. Malfoy said you were family friends, is that right?"

"Yes, well, I wouldn't quite say…friends…" Harry said slowly—because behind Bryan, Ron had gone ashen. He squinted slightly at Ron. His eyes were motioning frantically to the fireplace.

Harry allowed himself one very quick glance sideways—

To see Dean Thomas' panicked face in the green flames directly behind Bryan's feet.

 _Damn!_ Hermione had _said_ she was expecting a Floo Call from Dean later about a large order of Save-The-Dates; since he owned a parchment retailer offshoot of Scrivenshaft's, he had offered a generous discount…

Harry could see Ron making frantic shooing-away motions at Dean. To Harry's horror, Bryan seemed to notice his suddenly-odd expression, and he twisted around to look at the fireplace, too.

"What are you looking at?" He asked.

Harry had the Obliviate ready, but luckily, Dean was gone. He exhaled.

"Nothing," Harry brushed off. "I was zoned out, sorry…Reminiscing. Malfoy and I met at school, you see."

Bryan shook his head. "I could have sworn…"

"What?"

"I could have sworn, well…" And Bryan visibly hesitated for the first time since they had threatened him. "That I saw the flames turned green. Just briefly."

The Sitting Room went silent for a long moment. Then—

"What?" Ron chuckled loudly, even though Harry saw that his eyes weren't laughing at all. "Mate, I think you had a little too much of that Danish wine at supper if you're seeing green flames."

His joke broke the tension and Bryan's shoulders seemed to loosen.

"I know, I know, I sound crazy. I almost didn't say," Bryan laughed. "But I could have sworn…"

"I'm sure you did," Harry agreed.

Ron and Harry began to purposefully steer Bryan away from the Sitting Room, joking lightly with the younger man as they did so. But Bryan looked back reluctantly, several times, clearly warring with his own intelligence and what he was sure he saw.

* * *

"A wedding coordinator?" I demanded. "Wait a minute, Hermione. What's a 'wedding coordinator?"

After dinner found us alone in the kitchen. Scorpius had dragged Annie off somewhere to show her something or other, and Ron and Harry had also disappeared, most likely to interrogate Bryan. This gave Hermione the perfect opportunity to strike.

She flitted around me expertly with empty wine glasses from dinner in each hand.

"A person who coordinates weddings," she informed me.

"Yes, Hermione, duh, but what's to coordinate?" I truly didn't understand. It seemed pretty straightforward to me.

"Well, there's the invitations, the flowers, the food, the band, the photographer…Draco, why are you giving me that look? A lot of people these days hire wedding coordinators."

"Hermione, you and I run two very successful businesses—we can certainly pull together a wedding. What do we need a wedding coordinator for?" I asked again.

"Because I don't have your mother here to help me like she did with ours because she's in America, that's why!" Hermione cried. "Stop being so bloody dense, darling, _please_."

And I deflated.

"Oh, alright, I'll go. I'll meet the wedding coordinator. You know I don't want to, but I'll go!"

* * *

 **A/N: If I've inspired you to do so, please review! And up next: Franck!**


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